


A Rising Moon for Every Falling Star

by Tabithian



Series: Soft as the Starlight in the Sky [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magical Girls, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 15:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4397051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabithian/pseuds/Tabithian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim's always been good at going unnoticed, or maybe, like Robin says, the people in his life just don't care enough to give a damn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Rising Moon for Every Falling Star

**Author's Note:**

> Tim's POV leading up to just before the events in [Every Night the Same Encore](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4394246), because I couldn't stop thinking about it, and now there is this unholy mess. (Super, duper sorry.)

The whole thing starts – for Tim, at any rate – with a visit to the circus and Dick's kindness, generosity. It goes on from there to a large home that's always empty, and a small boy who can't seem to find his place. Always looking, always searching, and then there's a television broadcast and Tim _knows_ , mind making the connections in the time it takes for the news station to cut back to the reporter.

It only grows from there, Tim putting more focus on learning photography, begging his father's old field camera from him, the one that's been collecting dust in on of the hall closets. Tim learning the basics of self-defense from his caretakers, who see a small boy in a too-big house and. Maybe not worry about, so much as take pity on, and in the end it's nearly the same thing.

Tim learns to throw a punch without breaking his thumbs, learns how to break someone's hold on him, the weak points to aim for and to always, always, run the moment he can because there's no guarantee he'll get a second chance, not in Gotham.

Tim learns and learn and learns, and when he thinks he's ready (he's not, but that's a learning experience in itself) he ventures out into Gotham.

Takes to the rooftops, picks a likely spot and waits.

And waits and waits and waits, and doesn't see anything but stray cats, a scrawny dog the whole night. 

He goes back again and again, and each time he takes something new home with him, some little nugget of information, data.

Learns the patrol routes Batman and Robin take, learns which roofs to avoid, how to slip through Gotham's streets unnoticed.

He learns and learns and learns, and still it isn't good enough. ( _He's_ not good enough.)

********

Because Robin catches him.

********

He's setting up for the night, dressed in layers, hair an uncombed mess and grease paint smeared on his face just so, another scruffy little urchin wandering Gotham.

And then he turns, camera in hand, and there's _Robin_.

Not Dick Grayson, but the new one. ( _Jason_ , his mind supplies. _Jason Todd_.)

“Kid,” Robin says, hands on his hips. “What the hell.”

Tim's hands shake, just enough, and it's cold out, wind whipping around them, his hair flying around his face, Robin's cape fluttering slightly.

His hands shake, and it's cold, and he drops the camera, but Robin lunges forward and snatches it out of the air before it hits the roof.

Freezes, when he realizes what he's holding.

“The hell?”

Tim.

It would be stupid to run, really it would, because this is Robin. And maybe not Dick as Robin, which is apparently some kind of anchor point in Tim's mind when it comes to Robin, but still Robin. Fast and agile and better trained than Tim, and _Robin_.

He still runs.

“Oh, what the actual fuck,” he hears, and can't help but laugh because he's stupid, so stupid, but he's _still running_.

He makes it a fair distance before he gets tackled, Robin grumbling the whole time about idiot kids and was running really necessary, really?

Tim goes boneless, resigned.

“Kid?”

And there's Robin poking at his shoulder, a quiet hiss and a near inaudible, _Oh shit, don't tell me I broke you, Jesus, B is going to be so pissed at me,_ when he leans over Tim, shadow obscuring what little moonlight there is.

“Come on, please don't be broken.”

Tim, laughs, a quiet little huff of air. “Not broken,” he says.

“Oh, thank God.”

Robin's hand on his shoulder, rolling him over. Narrowed eyes and ferocious looking frown.

“The hell were you thinking just now?”

Tim wasn't, really.

Robin must see it in his face because he just sighs, shakes his head and - 

“Here, you probably want this back.”

Tim.

Tim sits up and takes the camera back, cradles it in his hands. “Why?”

Robin grins, holds up a roll of film in one of his hands. “Because I have this?”

Tim reaches for it – still not thinking – and Robin grabs his wrist with his free hand.

“Nuh-uh, kid. Nice try.”

And because Tim is still stupid, “I have more.”

Robin _smirks_.

“Kind of figured that, yeah,” he says, jerks his chin back the way they came. “I saw that little nest of yours.” Pauses, eyes narrowing a little. “I seem to remember finding a few others like that all over the place.”

Tim doesn't fidget or squirm, no. He goes a certain kind of still, waiting, waiting.

“You want to tell me what you're doing out here?”

Not so much, no.

“Okay,” Robin says, slowly, like he's thinking. “You show these to anyone?”

And that's a Bat-voice, the kind that has Gotham's criminals paranoid, looking over their shoulders.

“I. No,” Tim says. “No.”

Robin cocks his head.

“I don't.” Tim doesn't know how to explain. “They're for me?”

That gets him long stare, and then a longer sigh, Robin tossing the roll of film back to him. “Keep it,” he says, scowls. “Don't even think about going to anyone with them, or I'll find you.”

Tim tries, he does, but he can't help the laugh, a little hysterical towards the end, but. 

“Shut up,” Robin says, laughing a little himself. “I'm serious.”

Tim knows it he does, just.

“Oh my God, seriously, shut up.”

********

Tim's always been good at going unnoticed, or maybe, like Robin says, the people in his life just don't care enough to give a damn.

Which.

It should hurt, is the thing, but mostly Tim feels relieved. (And guilty.)

Relieved that his parents are either busy with the company or discussing his father's next dig, some new trip out of the country and don't stop to wonder where Tim is, because Tim - 

Tim is out running across Gotham's rooftops, little flashes or red and yellow and green popping up behind him every so often, Robin giving chase.

Guilty, because he should be home, should be the good little son who stands to inherit the company one day, join his parents on one of his father's digs, go on a trip with them to a foreign country. (Be normal.)

There's a quiet whoop of delight and Robin rises up out of the shadows in front of Tim, teeth bright in his face an he leaps forward, arms going around Tim's chest as they tumble head over heels.

“Augh, Robin, what are you doing?” Tim gasps out in between little bursts of laughter when Robin flops over him, pinning him to the roof.

“Making sure the target can't escape,” Robin says primly, but Tim can just see the edges of his smirk from where he is, and that is Robin being a smug jerk.

“You're a jerk,” Tim says, tries to get free before giving up in disgust because Robin outweighs him by at least twenty pounds, and also, he's _Robin_.

Robin _hmms_ , pleased with himself, and Tim.

This isn't so bad, really.

********

Tim gets the phone call when he's at school, the principal pulling him out of class with a somber expression and Tim's stomach _drops_.

“What happened? Please, what happened?”

The principal won't look at him when he talks, tells him the airplane his parents had been on crashed somewhere over the ocean, his parents off to one of his father's digs.

“I'm so sorry, Timothy,” the principal says, rote, “if there's anything I can do - “

But Tim isn't listening anymore, buzzing in his ears and color bleeding out of the world because his parents are _gone_.

********

There's a rhythmic sort of tapping at Tim's window, two floors up and _how_.

The tapping gets more insistent, louder, and Tim jolts when there's a particularly loud tap, like -

“Open up, asshole.”

Like Robin is in the tree outside his window glaring in at him.

Tim just stares, uncomprehending.

And Robin sighs, deeply put upon as he pulls several tools from his belt pouches and opens the window, nice and neat and just.

Glares at Tim.

At the mess that Tim's become. Unwashed hair, grubby clothes and puffy eyes from crying because his parents - 

“I fucking told you I'd find you, didn't I?” Robin says, and climbs through the window, glancing around at Tim's room and then back at him. 

Makes a face.

“Christ, you look horrible.”

Tim closes his eyes, pretends there isn't a vigilante sidekick in his room. (That his parents are still coming home.)

“Kid, look.” Robin growls, frustrated. “Have you even been paying attention to what's going on outside of your room?”

Tim opens one eye, watches Robin pacing, hands in his hair.

He hasn't is the thing, has been letting the lawyers argue themselves in circles, waiting for Mrs. Mac's contract to run out, see where they're going to send him afterward.

“You know who I am,” Robin says, gestures at his face. Towards the direction Wayne Manor is in. “Who we all are.”

Tim blinks, slow.

“God, you're such a little shit,” Robin mutters, but it's. It's not _angry_. “I, uh. I told him. About you.”

Tim.

“Why?” he says, voice a dry croak because he hasn't needed it for a long time.

Robin glares at him, stalks over to him and _looms_. 

“The hell do you think?”

And Tim.

Tim sits up, moves away from Robin. “I didn't,” he says, voice breaking, feeling panic set in when he didn't think he could feel anything anymore, “I didn't tell anyone.”

Robin's face - 

“Oh, Jesus, you're so stupid,” Robin mutters, lunges, and Tim tries to move away, but this is Robin and Tim is Tim and - 

“He wants to adopt you, you moron,” Robin says, crushing Tim to him. “You're not in trouble okay? Just. Fucking knock it off, I can feel how fast your heart's going. Calm the hell down.”

Tim.

“What?”

A heavy sigh against the top of Tim's head. “I told him what you've been doing, and he's. He knew your parents, right? You've met him before? The dumbass who has no idea how the hell he got all these kids? That guy?”

Tim snorts a laugh, ugly, gross, but Robin doesn't seem to care, just holds on tighter.

“He wants to adopt you, if it's what you want.”

“How?”

“Idiot's a sucker for kids," Robin says, dismissive. “But for your information, I had to bring the big guns in on this because he was being all _considerate_ and shit." 

A pause, and then quieter, "He doesn't want to make things harder for you. None of us do.”

“...Nightwing?” Tim hazards, thinking back to Robin's earlier words.

Robin laughs, a short, sharp bark. “Jesus no,” he says, “ _Alfred_.”

********

Things are.

Weird.

Bruce keeps looking at him like he's trying to settle on suit design, which.

No. 

No thanks, not for Tim, no.

(He's not good enough.)

He doesn't go out at night anymore, doesn't chase after Batman and Robin. (Relief and guilt and all the regrets Tim's collecting, like the photos he used to take.)

Jason spars with him in the Batcave. Teaches him to _fight_ , and Dick teaches him gravity is only a suggestion - although Tim gets more than his fair share of bumps and bruises along the way. Barbara teaches him computers, wicked grin on her face and little challenges tossed his way. Bruce teaches him -

Bruce teaches him - 

Bruce teaches Tim the way threads connect, fine tunes what Tim already knows, shows him to find the things he doesn't, how to _anticipate_.

“Freaks,” Jason mutters, watching the two of them reading test results, talking quietly, engaged. “Both of you.”

But it's fond, and Bruce's mouth twitches when he glances at Tim, and. 

This is.

This isn't the worst thing in the world.

(It's getting better, bit by bit.)

********

“Stay out of it, Tim, it's personal,” Jason says

The last words he says to Tim before heading to Ethiopia, and Tim regrets not pushing harder the rest of his life.

And then Barbara, and Tim feels the guilt, regrets piling up one after another after another, spilling up out of the neat little box he kept them in in the back of his mind and into everything he does, sees.

(This. This is the worst thing in the world, and Tim doesn't know what to do to fix it, if it can be fixed.)

********

Steph is.

Steph comes into the family the same time Tim leaves.

She's light and laughter in a family that's sorely lacking it and Tim.

He uses the money Bruce has made sure to keep safe for him all these years and moves out of the manor. (Drake Industries is long gone, swallowed up by Wayne Enterprises because Tim. He _can't_ , and Bruce understands.)

Enrolls in the police academy because Tim's not good enough to run across Gotham's rooftops, but he has to be good enough to patrol her streets, do his bit that way.

He has Bruce and Dick and even Steph dropping into his life from time to time, Barbara's voice in his ear, little challenges here and there. And then Cass, and in his own way, Damian, although that takes a long time to settle into anything other than purely antagonistic.

Through it all is Alfred, tutting at the state of his living arrangements and being a sort of solid stability Tim needs in his life no matter where he is.

(The empty space where Jason should be, but he's gotten better at maneuvering around it, convincing himself it's okay, he's fine now.)

********

He never knows the full explanation, just bits and piece here and there, Steph muttering darkly about _those jackasses in Bludhaven_ , and then Officer Grayson transfers to Tim's precinct.

Gordon looks between them and sighs, like he knows his life is forever terrible and says, “Just. Don't die. Please. We wouldn't survive the negative publicity.”

Tim eyes Dick, who _smiles_ and chirps, “We'll do our best, Commissioner!” and herds Tim out of his office.

“We're going to die,” Tim says, ignores the stares as Dick parades him through the bullpen. 

“No! Well, maybe,” Dick amends, pushing Tim towards the elevator. “I forgot to tell Bruce about this.”

Forgot. Right.

“Oh my God,” Tim says. "What?”

********

And now Tim is wrapped up in bars made of actual light (that sparkle?) by a demented man in what looks like a tuxedo.

“Do you work for Penguin?” Tim finds himself asking. “I mean, the tuxedo - “

There's a shriek of rage, the man in the tuxedo throwing a tantrum and stomping his feet, and why did Tim ever want to stay in Gotham? 

Really. 

Why?

“I do not work for that, that _hack_ , the man shrills, waving his magic wand around menacingly. “Please, don't insult me like that.”

Tim.

“Okay, sorry,” he says, wonders who's going to be the one to find him.

He'd say Dick, but there's that concussion to consider, and Steph is supposed to be with the Titans. Which means Cass or Damian, in which case he's pulling for Cass.

She'll give him no end of grief, but at least she doesn't look at him like he's something she scraped off the bottom of her shoe. Probably. He knows how she feels about him getting taken like this. (Like he wants to be used as leverage against them?)

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Tim hears, a new voice. “What the hell is that even supposed to be?”

Tim blinks, looks up where the voice seems to be coming from and - 

Pink.

A lot of pink, and some gold and bits of white, but also bows. 

What.

“Ugh, God, fine,” the man growls, makes his way down to where the guy in the tuxedo is trying to strike some kind of pose. “Hey, scumwad.”

Tim.

“Who are you? How dare you interrupt - “

The guy with the bows punches the guy wearing the tuxedo in the face. 

Short, sharp, brutal.

Oddly familiar, like his voice, but Tim can't quite place either just yet. 

“Jesus,” the guy in the bows says, studying Tim's predicament. “Why is it always you?”

What.

“What?”

“Close your eyes,” the guy with the bows says. “This is going to bright. And sparkly, what the fuck.”

Tim - 

“Shut them!”

********

“Okay, this. This is not helping,” Tim says, glaring at Dick while an episode of _Sailor Moon_ plays on the monitors in the Batcave. “What is wrong with you?”

Dick grins, slinging an arm around Tim's shoulder and ignoring Bruce trying to bore a hole in his head with his eyes, Damian looking like he's a second away from launching himself at them and Steph and Cass laughing helplessly, leaning on one another for support.

“What? You said - “

Tim knows what he said, okay, he was there when he said it.

The fact that Tim was abducted by an evil Tuxedo Mask only to be rescued by a male Sailor Scout was not something he ever thought he'd experience, even in Gotham.

********

Tim's parents are surprisingly not dead.

He doesn't.

Tim doesn't know _how_ feel. (Relief and guilt mixed up in equal measures, but there's anger in there, and resentment which leads back to guilt and regret.)

His parents, however, don't seem to have changed that much. 

“Bruce did _what_?”

Incredulousness that ends on a low hiss.

********

It's almost a relief, then, when the guy with the bows (no one's come up with a decent name to call him, too baffled to do so) shows up at Tim's apartment bleeding and carrying a snooty looking cat.

“Um.”

“Look, we'll be out of here in a bit, we just needed a safe spot to regroup,” the guy says, blood dripping over Tim's coffee table, the hardwood flooring beneath it. “No worries.”

The cat _hisses,_ hooks its claws into the guys pants, eliciting a yelp, and - 

“...let me get the first aid kit,” Tim says.

Feels the guy watching him the whole time, cat making low growling sounds and he probably needs to think about moving away from Gotham at some point.

********

Tim may not have worn a suit like the others, but he has the training (the necessary bits), and also, he's a police officer with his sights set on making detective one day.

Mystery Bow Guy left a lot of blood behind the night he broke into Tim's apartment.

Tim has friends who work in the forensics lab, and also, has an in to the Batcave.

(Also, a fair bit of Bat brand paranoia when it comes to costumed people in Gotham no matter how baffling they are.)

********

Tim's always been good at going unnoticed, but there's always been one person who _sees_ him. 

It takes him some time, working around his day job and keeping Bruce and the others from catching on, so he's fairly well exhausted the night Mystery Bow Guy touches down on the roof he's staked out, wary, suspicious.

Tim dredges up a smile from somewhere, fingers twitching at the way he looks ready to bolt, _run_ , and keeps moving closer.

Swallows, heart in his throat.

“Hey, Jason,” Tim says, trying for casual and falling far short when his voice breaks over Jason's name. “Long time no see.”


End file.
